A Tale of Two Races

PART 1: Capital Classic - 24th January

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I haven't blogged much about my saga with The Protea, probably because it only seems dramatic to me since I have little-to-no experience in that arena. That, and one of the first things I did when I started talking to him was give him the links to both C&E and DYHAXLIT, and he occasionally reads (which honestly, I didn't expect him to do, since he spends hours reading cricket articles, I didn't think he had the time. And hey, don't be judging, y'all. I be spending hours reading all you peoples blogs!). I respect that he is a private person - unlike me who is all OMG HERE IS THE STORY OF MY LIFE AND THEN SOME, however, this little tidbit is slightly relevant to the event that I'm writing about. I didn't have the strength to write about it at the time, but now, I do.

In the very beginning, I was biting my fingernails, wondering whether he was interested in me or not. He went on holiday for a week, then came back and wasn't talking to me much at all, and I began preparing myself for one of two possibilities based on my conversations with him. a) Him moving overseas (which he eventually did do), and b) Him realising he wasn't ready and was still hurting from his previous relationship.

The day before I flew down to Wellington for the Capital Classic, he told me he had started dating someone else, which was a massive shock to me. I doubled back through everything, wondering what 'He's Just Not That Into You' signs I'd missed. That night, I couldn't sleep. I was just so completely stunned, and it hit me so hard - I didn't want to be hit that hard, but there was no denying how horrible I felt when he gave me that news.

I didn't want my first swim to be in Auckland. I wanted it to be somewhere else, away from my parents. My Mum openly said that she would never support me in an ocean swim, and I didn't want to be around people who didn't support me - I wanted to be away from them. Now, I wanted to be away from them for a different reason.

I asked Sarah-I to come down to Wellington with me for the first swim with a 750m Ocean Swim event - the Capital Classic on the 24th of January. I've been to Wellington before and loved the city, so it made sense for me to go down there.

Given that I'd been swimming upwards of 3km in the pool, I rather arrogantly thought that 750m in the ocean would be easily doable. And here's the kicker, I arrogantly thought I would be able to do it in any conditions. Hah. We'll get back to that point later.

The day that I flew down to Wellington, I turned up to work, pale and exhausted, and completely numb from what The Protea had told me. I could barely speak to anyone, I didn't have any appetite, and eventually my boss told me to go home because he thought I was sick (and didn't want anyone else in the office to catch whatever the hell kinda illness it was that I got.)

When I met Sarah-I at the airport, I could barely speak to her. She jabbered a bit and did her very best to keep me distracted, but I was too numb and shellshocked. The previous races I'd done, I was nervous, anxious, shitting myself, doubting myself. This time, I couldn't feel anything. I wasn't a living being that day, the only energy I had, I devoted to existing. Feeling, experiencing, that was too hard.

I badly, SO badly needed the euphoric feeling of completing a race to lift me up.

And eveywhere in Wellington, there were reminders of the purpose of being there.

Sarah-I's friend kindly had picked us up from the airport and taken us firstly to the registration site where I picked up my registration pack and got my number written on my hand.

The course in Wellington for both the 750m event and the 2.8km event took you around particular highlights of the Wellington Harbour - the 750m swim around the Fountain, and the 2.8km around the Lighthouse.

These, the fact that I love Wellington, and that it was away from my family who did not support me, made the Capital Classic look like a perfect event.

However, it was not to be.

Sarah-I and I woke up to a sunny day, and after a nutritious breakfast and half an hour trying to wriggle into my wetsuit - this after a relapse of my ankle injury putting me out of my regular gym routine for a wee while - I waddled down the road to the start line.

What you can't see was how choppy the water was. It was quite rough, though the announcer was talking about how the wind had dropped considerably overnight and it was much calmer than it had been in the past few days.

Given how ridiculous the wind was in the triathlon a year ago (heck, was it that long ago?!), I again, arrogantly thought I was going to be fine. I really needed the race to lift my spirits. I wanted SOMETHING to feel good about. The ankle injury had kept me out of the gym, and I was still only just dealing with the deaths close to the family and the legal squabbling that had ensued thereafter.

My arrogance was even more inflated after taking a quick dip to... 'warm up'. I say that in inverted commas because of how cold the water was! It was freezing, and I was very thankful for my wetsuit purchase.

Sarah-I and the lovely Charmaine were on the beach in support, and it was overwhelming. I really felt that I had more support in Wellington than I did in Auckland - sad in a way, but the fact that two beautiful people were there only for ME was incredible.

I pulled off a quick wave before the hooter went off.

That was probably my last genuine smile for my entire weekend in Wellington.

I walked into the water, not rushing, but definitely with some urgency. My last training swim before the race, I had done in 15 minutes. I was eager to be done with it and have it out of the way, to cross that finish line and feel that euphoria.

In fact, look at the post I wrote the very next day that said this (emphasis not from original post):

Unfortunately like everything else in my life at the moment, I failed to complete the Capital Classic.

You don't know how much I needed SOMETHING to go right, to feel one piece of euphoria and joy.

No. It didn't happen.

In the warm up dip I took, I swam in two directions - into the waves, and with the waves. When you swim into the waves, you can see the waves in front of you and moderate your stroke in time or duck your head under. Negative of this is that you tend to get a lot of salt water in your mouth. When you swim with the waves, you travel a bit faster as the waves carry you forward, but because you can't see them, you're not prepared for them, and the vertical drop that can occur catches you off guard.

By far the hardest was the one that I hadn't tried before. Swimming perpendicular to the waves. Trying to travel forward when the waves are pushing you sideways.

This was how we were travelling for the beginning stretch of the course. I felt the wind had picked up considerably from when the race briefing to when we hit the water, and because of the wave direction, I felt like I was getting no traction through the water at all. I tried as hard as I possibly could, taking mouthful after mouthful of salt water as the waves kept working against me, and the vertical drop from the height of the wave to the depth of it was huge - it quite possibly match the sinking feeling in my stomach that I had when I had that previous conversation with The Protea.

I glanced to my right, where I saw a lifeguard on a surfboard, watching the swimmers go past him. I know that I wouldn't have noticed him there if I wasn't struggling. I tried to ignore him, though as irritated swimmers swam over the top of me and collided with me as they tried to get past, I was exhausted, almost crying in the water, still feeling like I hadn't travelled anywhere, like I hadn't gotten any further from the start line. I felt like if the tide had gone out right at that moment, my chest would've been on the beach, my arms and legs flailing - like a bug who has been picked up yet still thrashes their legs about trying to run away.

I again look to the right at the lifeguard. Hating myself as I did so, I found myself raising my hand in the air. A couple of seconds later, the guy saw me and moved in my direction. He politely asked me how I was doing, and all I could splutter was "I can't... I just can't...". He signalled for the IRB (Inflatable Rescue Boat) and said to me gently, "You've done really well, you wouldn't catch me in that water!" It was lovely that he spoke so kindly, but it didn't help me with how much of a failure I felt, clinging to that surfboard. Not a moment later, the IRB arrived and the two lifeguards within it hauled me into the boat. It was a struggle and I was embarassed because I felt stiff, heavy, and my muscles wouldn't cooperate with me, so I couldn't help get myself into the boat as much as I wanted to.

The IRB dropped me back off to the beach - not without more embarassment since I went to climb out of the boat, though when I tried to, I ended up rolling back in (whoops!) since again, my legs didn't cooperate with me. In the end, I rolled off the side of the boat without trying land properly, falling down in a mangled heap. An official cut my timing chip off my ankle and Sarah-I and Charmaine came to my side straight away as I burst into tears.

For days later, I tried to blame The Protea. Like I blamed The Jerk for my back injury - and rightfully so, he begged me to come meet him when I'd been ordered to stay in bed, and my minor back niggle became aggravated to a serious back injury.

The fact of the matter was, even if I had been happy and well rested, I still wouldn't have been able to complete that swim. I hadn't trained in anywhere near as rough conditions as what I faced that day. The whole thing had been so perfect in my mind - yet I somehow amongst all of it managed to forget that Wellington? It's dang windy down there. I couldn't blame The Protea, no matter how hard I tried.

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PART 2: King of the Bays - 19th April

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I know Wellington and Auckland most intimately out of all of the cities in New Zealand, which is why when it came to deciding which swims to enter, I entered the Capital Classic in Wellington, and King of the Bays in Auckland. When I 'Not Finished' the Capital Classic, I was wondering what the hell I was thinking having entered a second race.

In theory, I had a lot of time to train. Though with some travel overseas, Les Mills filmings, the first Run Auckland race for the year (which I still haven't written about), and getting closer to The Protea only to have to have the fool leave the country on me (if you're wondering about the Him Dating Someone Else, we had a phone call that thrashed that out, which had me bursting into tears and sounding like a big sook when really I was trying to yell at him), the training got shelved. I was still exercising, but not training. While events are great, when I love group fitness so much, the training can get exhausting. I can rock up to any old Jam class without any mental preparation - same with doing RPM or Combat. Training for a race, however, is a different kettle of fish.

I used to scratch my head at why Worker Emm regularly went for 10km runs didn't enter any races. He ran for the enjoyment of it, and didn't need any races to tell himself of his achievements. Because he didn't see them as achievements. He saw them as fun. If he entered a race, suddenly all of those enjoyable runs would become training runs. Yes, it is possible that the two can overlap, but it may not for everyone. There have been times where I absolutely hated the training for Run Auckland.

I had been mentally weakened by the events of the last few months. Starting right from Christmas where my friend went into hospital and that week on call was ridiculously ridiculous - this year has been... ridiculous. I have things to look forward to in the near future, though all of them seem incredibly exhausting at the same time. All I want is a weekend of doing nothing, is that so much to ask?!

King of the Bays literally snuck up on me. One week before the race I thought, "Heck... I haven't been in the water since Wellington! I need to do a swim..." With the race on the Sunday, Thursday was the day I managed to get in the water. I was sore from doing Body Combat and a session with Adam in the morning the previous day, as well as having weak feeling ankles, so I was a bit worried when I got out of the pool at 750m in 25 minutes, knowing full well that I had completed my last 750m pool swim in 15 minutes, and that I would probably be slower in the ocean. The time limit on the 750m event was 30 minutes - so being 25 minutes in a more comfortable environment made me be vewwy vewwy quiet nervous.

It was a different feeling to previous races. I'd been achieving something new, something different each time. This time? It felt like I was out to get... well... revenge. To vanquish the demons of January the 24th, and to round up my last day of being 23 by polishing off an ocean swim - one of the goals I'd been wanting to achieve for quite some time. I've always felt like more of a swimmer than a runner, which is probably another reason why I felt so devastated by failing to complete the swim in Wellington.

Knowing that I had failed before, I kept it quiet. However, I didn't count on my friends Amal and Tamara remembering how I had asked them to come and support me for the swim. I also didn't count on Sarah-I remembering too. Sarah-I had a late night out and wasn't able to get up in time to come to the beach, but I was shocked when both Tamara and her husband were at the beach waiting for me when I got out of the car.

She must've been equally shocked when she saw my parents behind me. My parents, in particular, my Mum, who had said that she would never support me in an ocean swim. Both her and my Dad had gotten out of bed and driven me across Auckland to be on Takapuna beach that day (and oh my god, Takapuna reminds me so much of the surfy towns in Queensland that it's freakalicious.)

While not as sunny and bright as the day that greeted me when I woke up in Wellington, the first thing I noticed was that the sea was much calmer. I knew it wouldn't feel that way when I was in the water, but seeing the difference in calmness from the shoreline was already a good sign.

I headed down to the beach for the race briefing, and for a moment, Amal and Tamara came off the grass and onto the sand to stand and chat to me before the Announcer Guy started Announcing. It transformed to what would have been a very lonely moment to something quite lovely.

(and Rangitoto Island looks rather impressive in the background there!)

As soon as the race briefing was over, we began heading off down the beach in a big mob to the start line.

I was a bit behind the group since I grabbed a nervous swimmers cap - which is a different colour to the event cap. For the Wellington Capital Classic event, the event caps were green, and for the North Shore King of the Bays event, the event caps were red. The nervous swimmers caps were blue, and I put this on over the top of my red one so that the lifeguards out on the water would be able to spot me easier.

I didn't mind being behind the group. I learned from Wellington that I wanted to be behind everyone - to have pretty much as many people ahead of me as possible. I didn't want to have people swimming over the top of me again.

I wasn't ready for it when the hooter went off, but it was okay since I slowly took my time getting into the water. I saw people in front of me shouting and exclaiming "OMG THE WATER'S FREEZING!", but I was surprised when my feet touched the water that it wasn't as cold as I expected. It was several degrees warmer than Wellington, which I didn't expect, given that while Wellington is further south, the Capital Classic took place in the height of summer, and at the height of the day. King of the Bays was in Autumn, early in the morning.

The cold caught some people off guard, and very early into the course, kids who were wearing nothing but their speedos were hauled out of the water, shivering like mad.

Very early into the race, despite it being calmer, I felt the same feeling that I did in Wellington. I felt like I wasn't going anywhere, no matter how hard I was pushing myself. However, I was swimming into the waves this time, not across them, and while I didn't realise it at the time, I *was* making distance.

With the waves coming at you, even though I wanted to put my head down, I couldn't. I remembered Andrew sending me a message on MSN Messenger when I posted a video on my first training swim in the ocean, saying "Head down while swimming!" I tried putting my head down as this memory surfaced. When I would lift my head to breathe, I'd get a wave in my mouth and my gob full of saltwater, and the other thing was I would have absolutely no concept of where the hell I was and which direction I was going. Never mind having to avoid the other swimmers who seemed to be coming out of everywhere. I looked at all of the other swimmers and saw that none of them had their heads down. I knew I would get better propulsion through the water with my head down, though I also would get no oxygen at all... hmmmm... I took my heed from the other swimmers and decided to swim with my head up.

My thought of my head position had distracted me, and I looked ahead, and suddenly was shocked. The first orange buoy which had seemed so far from the start line was now MUCH closer.

I was ACTUALLY making progress! Progress I could SEE! I urged myself to get around that buoy, and it was an awesome feeling when I did. I never made it to the first marker in Wellington, so already, I had gotten much further.

The second stretch of the course was the hardest one, and it had me thinking about Wellington all over again. I was swimming across the waves, with them pushing me towards the shore while I was travelling forwards. The big difference now was that I had very few people around me. I, on one level, knew that it was because they had all finished already (grrr), but I liked having more space to work with.

There were lifeguards on the surfboards in the water, and one of them politely said to me, "How you doing, you doing okay?" and I gave her a thumbs up from in the water. She said, "You're over half way now, you're doing great."

Over half way? When did that happen? HOW did that happen?

Before I carry on, I will say that the hardest part of the swim, which is true for both Auckland and Wellington is the first part. It's where the waves are the most variable, and thus, where most people pull out. I came so close to pulling out again, despite knowing that there were FOUR people on the beach who would see my failure, again. And that I would have to report to you all about not completing it, again.

As I approached the second buoy, I found I had angled myself a bit too much (or... the waves had pushed me a bit too much... you take your pick), and turned inside the buoy, rather than outside it. Whoops. I hope they don't mind!

When I made that turn, I was facing the beach, staring right at the markers, knowing that it was the home stretch. Now that I was swimming with the waves, I found I was able to keep my head down and get some power in the water like I used to get in the pool. My arms had gotten pretty tired throughout the course, and there were moments when I briefly switched strokes to give them a break. I had more than enough strength in them to get through and back to the beach.

When the water was shallow enough to put my feet on the sand, I stood up and saw two figures on the beach. One of them was wearing a bright purple top, which was Amal. The other one, next to her, threw her arms up in the air, cheering - which was Tamara.

I can tell you, it was all worth it just for that.

The Announcer Guy at the race briefing said to be careful once you'd gotten onto the beach, and not to begin running to the finish line straight away. I walked for a bit, not running straight away, and when my feet had left the water, I whipped my cap and goggles off and made a run for it.

As I crossed the line, I heard the Announcer Guy say "Raina Singh from Auckland, crossing in at...", and I didn't hear the time because that didn't matter. Well, at that moment it didn't matter. Hearing him say my name as I ran across the line made me feel like the most important person on the whole damn planet.

Thankfully, this following photo was taken one second after I crossed the line.

My official time being 20 minutes and 37 seconds.

Well clear of having my ass hauled in by the Too Slow boat.

The demons of Wellington were well and truly gone, and when my Mum wrapped her arms around me and told me how proud of me she was, it was such a polar opposite of January the 24th.

I don't like myself in photos, and even I can see the genuineness of that smile.

I could also see that I'm damn tired too, but I didn't need to look in a photo for that. After the day I've had, I'm knackered and ready to hit the sack. Heck, after the YEAR I've had, I'm ready to hit the sack.

It was the best way to wind up my last day of being 23, and being 23 has been incredible. When I wake up tomorrow as a 24 year old, I know one thing for certain.

There is more to come.